It was 50 glorious degrees today in central Illinois, and I decided to head out to my home course to sneak in nine holes – likely my last chance this season.

There is an inherent gamble in playing “one last round,” though. If you play well, you are infused with confidence and good thoughts all winter, content with your skill and quietly eager to get back out come spring.

If you play poorly, all is lost. Kiss your winter good-bye. You doubt your swing so much that you begin to wonder if you’ll ever hit a solid shot again. You simmer and stew in your failure, and all you want to do is practice. This burning, bitter pain is intensified by the knowledge that you cannot practice for months. (There are no indoor facilities near where I live.)

Sadly, I found myself in the latter circumstance today. Nothing felt right. I shanked more balls today than in the past five years combined. I even chipped the leading edge of the crown of my favorite driver – oh, the shame of the Idiot Mark!

Sigh…. I should have stayed home and done some more yard work, like my wife asked me to do. Serves me right…

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